Page 89 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
I’m opening my mouth to say more when a yowl cuts me short. We both freeze, hands going to our guns.
My first thought is animal. Like the two lynx we heard yesterday, fighting for the right to scavenge Sandy’s body. Yet there’s a sharp note in this cry, part outrage and part pain, that is very human.
“Eric!” I call out, proving I am not myself. I’m pushing too hard, corralling all my meager energy into focusing on critical tasks like analyzing a crime scene, and when I hear a cry, my exhausted brain leaps to the conclusion I fear most—that Dalton is at risk out there alone—rather than actually processing what I’m hearing.
Even before Anders turns a quizzical look on me, I know that wasn’t Dalton. It sounded nothing like him, beyond being the cry of a human male.
“It isn’t Eric,” I say. “I know. I’m just … tired.”
“Eric said you haven’t been feeling well.”
I only nod. When it comes time to tell someone, Anders will be at the top of that list, but we just heard someone call out in pain—this is not the time to tell him I’m pregnant.
“That was an adult, right?” I say as we move in that direction, continuing along the path faster now, guns out.
“Definitely adult.”
“Good. Let’s hope it means Eric found the bastard who took Max.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
We’re moving at a slow jog. The cry seemed to come from down this path. It also sounded a whole lot closer than we’d last heard Dalton’s birdcall.
We don’t need to go far before we catch the sound of ragged breathing. It’s just up around a curve in the path. We slow even more, treading lightly, and I motion Anders into the lead. He doesn’t question. I’m acknowledging that I’m not at my best. I need someone more mentally alert in front.
I follow right behind Anders. As he steps around that corner, a blur of movement has him yelling, “Stop right there!”
It’s Joe—the young security guard. He’s on his feet, gun trained on Anders, his eyes wild. He blinks hard.
Joe sees me and the gun drops, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “It’s you.”
Anders lowers his weapon but doesn’t holster it. I do the same.
I move in front of Anders. “We heard a shout.”
Joe nods as he claps a hand to the back of his thigh. “Bastard got the jump on me.”
He turns, and where his hand had been, blood seeps through his trousers. “I didn’t even have my damn gun out. I’d stopped to…” He waves to where a canteen lies on the path, water spilling from it.
“You stopped for a drink and someone attacked from behind.”
“Not someone. That damned shaman guy. The one who killed Sa—” He stops himself and then says, “Fuck it. Sandy. You already heard me say his name. I don’t know why the boss doesn’t want you to know it. Paranoid bastard.”
“The guy in a bearskin attacked you? You got a look at him?”
“Enough to see the damned bearskin. Oh, yeah. He caught me by surprise, but I spun around before he could do what he did to Sandy. He still got this one slash in.” He presses his hand to the back of his thigh and gives an angry wince. “I lunged at him, but I stumbled and he ran off.”
“Better let me take a look at that wound,” I say.
I holster my gun then and walk over. Anders hasn’t said a word. He just stands there, gun out, menacing in a way that anyone who knows him would see right through. Joe doesn’t know him. All he sees is a big guy who looks like he’ll break him in half if he makes a threatening move.
“What were you doing out here?” I ask.
“I got first shift on search duty. This is my section.”
“Where’s your partner?”
“What partner?” Joe mutters. “Did I mention my boss is an asshole? We’re just widgets to him. Us and the miners. Sandy’s dead, and there’s a psycho in the forest, and all he cares about is that someone might discover where the miners are working. He even thought this shaman guy could be a spy. You believe that?” Joe snorts. “A spy who dresses up in a bearskin and plays mountain man. For all I know, he might still think that. He’s got half of us out here searching without backup.”
